


The Abyssal Lord

by NathanielSachell



Series: Worldbuilding Shorts [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Deities, Deity vs prey, Fantasy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Revenge, Sacrifice, Short One Shot, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathanielSachell/pseuds/NathanielSachell
Summary: A man prays silently, in the depths of a cave, his fellow villagers awaiting their end.His plea for help is answered, if for a price.Few things are as lethal as what lurks in the depths of the abyss.
Relationships: Original Male Character & Original Male Character
Series: Worldbuilding Shorts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780927





	The Abyssal Lord

The villagers were silently fretting. None of them dared to make a sound as they either darted their eyes over the single stone gate keeping them safe inside the tunnel, holding their loved ones close, or silently praying to any god that would listen, silently mouthing the chants and hymns they been sparingly taught.

The low thuds from the other side of the gate were increasing in volume, and in speed.  
A crude simulacrum of a predator's heartbeat as the hunt begins.

The light of the torches flickering like the heartbeat of prey that knows the end is near.  
Illuminating them sparingly, as if considering the darkness to be blessing for what's to come.

Childish cries echo before being hushed by their mother, rocking back and forth.  
The few men that are left are holding pitchforks and axes, standing infront of their injured, their mothers, sisters, wives, and their children.

A young man with a makeshift eyepatch, which is slowly staining a deeper crimson yet, who's on his knees, praying, even as his shattered left foot throbs in constant pain that almost mirrors the pain from his eye-socket, switches his silent chant to that of the Abyssal Lord.

They're farmers. The sea is many days by carriage away. Most of them have never even seen the sunlit cover of his domain, but yet he prays. Yet he begs.  
Any god that can save them is worth praying to.

A chill runs down his spine.  
The thuds on the other side of the gate growing stronger, echoing inside the tunnel now.  
The chill flows down to his feet, which quickly become numb, silencing half his pain.  
He pleads for all their lives.  
A cold liquid, heavier than water, flows in small streams like reverse teardrops towards his eyepatch.  
The smell of salt is indistinguishable. Heavy brine. His pain is but a dull throb, almost nothing. Only the bone deep chill remains.

Everything grows quiet. The blood rushing in his ears is almost deafening.  
A cold hand covers his own, still locked together. It was but a featherlight touch yet it felt like someone had placed an anvil on top of them.

He opens his one remaining eye.  
In front of him stands the Abyssal Lord.  
Tall, yet thin, deceivingly lithe.  
Hair the deepest black, absorbing the tiny light from the torches, though with patches of reds, greens and blues appearing before they disappear again just as quick.  
Dark blue cloth clads his frame, falling around him like a waterfall, pearls and precious metals placed sparingly throughout.

His eyes bore into the man's eye.  
An azure blue that almost feels too light for him, yet makes them stand out strikingly.

One of his hands raises a bit, a single finger outstretched, the nail growing into a sharp point before the god lazily drags it over the skin on the top of the man's left hand.  
A red welt appears, before even the deep cold disappears, his body finally free from all pain and suffering he's felt over the last days.

"Do you know the price for summoning me into another god's domain?" he asks.  
The man simply nods.  
The Lord of the Harvest has been gone for months. Yet they were his people. Sheep without a herder.  
"I'll pay it gladly, if no one else dies. Either I die now, or we all die soon. A few moments more means nothing for me."  
"If only we could forego the old laws." The Abyssal Lord states with a sad smile, as he cups the man's jaw, his face so close that the man can do nothing now other than look into those piercing azure eyes.  
"I, Abyssus, Lord of my namesake, Keeper of the Empty Citadel, and the Stalker of the Depths, accept this mortal's plea."

The man vanishes in an instant.  
The villagers scramble away as the sudden cold notify them of what happened.  
Where the man once knelt, now the deity stands.  
He merely raises his right arm towards the stone gate, and a trickle of brine appears on the ground, flowing towards it, ice forming crystalline clumps around it, before covering the gate.

His cousin had really gone beyond his station. Killing a fellow god, for the sake of War?  
The cowardice of slaughtering those that could not defend themselves made him almost sneer.  
The Lord of War and Conquest might be undefeatable in an actual battle, but this was no battle. His realm meant nothing when he was fighting for the fun of it.  
The Lord of the Abyss however?  
He was the ultimate predator.  
It wasn't for naught that one of his children was the Lady of the Hunt.  
The abilities of the life in his realm were his as well.  
Every strike was calculated, and only needed once per foe.  
As painful as it was swift  
As alluring as it was deadly.

Yes.  
He was the predator, and the ones outside the gate were now his prey.  
As the now brittle gate cracked and fell apart from the onslaught, the torches blew out from the resulting gust of wind.

The last thing the villagers saw was the smile directed towards the big doorway, sharp teeth glinting in the final light.

The Stalker of the Depths would feast tonight, until he had fulfilled the man's wish.


End file.
